


love in slow motion

by alnima



Series: Four [4]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, Some alcohol mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4577235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnima/pseuds/alnima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Zayn and Harry grow up together and fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love in slow motion

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday present for Dee!!!!!!! Dee, one of my most absolute favorite people. I hope that you enjoy this and that you had a happy birthday! No matter how many times I block you or how much you hate...well, you know what you hate, you're still one of my favorites. You're funny and kind and out spoken and always filled with ideas about Zarry that keep me inspired. I'm very happy and lucky to say you're my friend! 
> 
> I hope you like this and that your birthday was spectacular. <3 <3 And I'm so sorry that this is late.
> 
> **Disclaimer: I don't know or own anyone. This work is my own and it is not featured on any other site, nor does anyone have my permission to repost it in its entirety. Recs are fine, links are fine, but copying and pasting is not fine. Thank you!!!**

The party is loud, almost deafeningly so, as Harry weaves his way through the crowd. He sees Louis next to the stereo system, arguing with Liam about something – presumably what songs to play next. Harry leaves them to it, shoving through the crowd once more as he tries to find Zayn.

It’s a post graduation party, all of their friends and a large number of their graduating class getting together to celebrate that they made it through four years of college. Or five, for a few of them. They’ve been here for a couple hours and now that Harry’s no longer feeling the buzz of his beers that Niall shoved into his hands when they first arrived, Harry’s ready to go home.

But home is Zayn and without him Harry can’t leave the party. They were supposed to celebrate together, but then Harry was getting dragged off to talk to his friends while Zayn’s own group took him away.

It’s fine, but.

This is a milestone. Harry’s entire life is built around milestones with Zayn and that’s who he wants to be with right now, not a crowded house of people that he really doesn’t care about.

Harry finds Niall in the kitchen, mixing together some type of drink with too much rum that he’s been handing off to people at random all night. Niall’s his friend, he loves him dearly, but the guy makes a horrible drink. But that’s not why Harry’s here. He wants to find Zayn.

“I think I saw him head out,” Niall says, not bothering to turn and look at Harry. “Maybe twenty minutes ago. Not sure where he went, thought he was just out for a smoke or something.”

“Alright, thanks,” Harry mumbles his gratitude before turning and heading towards the door in search of Zayn.

It’s cool out, surprisingly so for late May. Harry’s wearing a jacket that Zayn bought him for his birthday two years ago. A ridiculously expensive one in the form of a grey bomber jacket that Harry refused to touch for weeks because of how much it cost. It hung in their tiny closet of their absurdly small apartment for weeks, until Zayn forced the garment on his body, threatening to withhold sex and then acting offended that Harry didn’t like it.

As he walks through their hometown clueless as to where Zayn may be, he checks his phone and curses when he realizes that his phone is dead. It probably died hours ago, somewhere between their graduation ceremony, dinner with both their families, and sex in the shower before they got ready to head out. Who knows. Harry only hopes that Zayn isn’t trying to get a hold of him, or worse, wandering aimlessly around the party in search of Harry while he’s out searching for him.

It takes fifteen minutes to find Zayn. Harry nearly misses him. But there he is, sat on the bench in front of the playground at the edge of the park.

“Fancy finding you here,” Harry says as he approaches and Zayn smiles at him, patting the vacant stretch of bench beside him.

Harry sits down and presses in close to Zayn, the other boy putting his arm around Harry’s shoulder. He’s still looking at the playground, observing it with a distant look in his eyes. Harry watches him for a while, his gaze tracing over the face that he’s known his whole life. And knowing someone else as well as Harry knows Zayn, almost as much as he knows himself, he can instantly sense that something’s not right.

“Babe,” Harry whispers, sitting up to look at Zayn properly. “Something wrong?”

“I’m just thinking, Harry.”

“Care to tell me what about?”

“Us.”

Harry hums at that, settling back on the bench. Zayn and shrugs almost apologetically, which does nothing to ease Harry’s mind. But it’s Zayn. The same Zayn he’s had for a lifetime. It’ll be fine, Harry hopes.

“And what about us would make you leave the party to come sit out here?”

“You know this is where we first met, right?” Zayn asks, face still turned away from Harry.

“Yeah, I do. I think about it every time I walk down here.”

>><<>><<

They’re three when they meet for the first time.

It’s oddly cool out for summer, the heat low enough that they’re not drenched in sweat when they step outside. Harry’s mommy had dressed him in a pair of blue shorts and a yellow shirt. He looks ridiculous, a tiny picture of a puppy on the front of the shirt, as he scopes the playground in front of him for where he wants to play.

It’s the first time that his mommy has allowed him the chance to run around on his own. He feels free, and like a big boy; which is most important, because he’s been reminding her of how big he is lately. Big enough to use the potty without holding her hand, big enough to drink from a big boy cup - not one of the stupid ones with a lid, but the ones that she uses, the ones in the high shelf that he can’t reach.

Harry settles on the slide, deciding that’s where he wants to play first and sets off in a run towards it, swinging his arms at his sides as he goes. But something catches his eye, a little boy sitting by himself underneath the slide with a Buzz Lightyear and one of those boy dolls that go with Gemma’s Barbies. Harry stops and watches the little boy play. His hair is darker than Harry’s, black like the spots on his kitten, and it’s cut differently. He’s wearing a stripped shirt, one that’s purple and green and a pair of blue jeans. He doesn’t have to wear a stupid puppy picture on his shirt, one that’s for babies, not big boys.

“Hi,” Harry says, walking closer to the little boy.

The little boy, who was mumbling to his toys stops and stares up at Harry curiously, pulling both of his toys closer to his chest, trying to keep them away from Harry.

“I Harry,” Harry says, smiling as he plops down on the ground in front of the boy. He stares at his toys, wishing that he would have brought his own. “What’s you name?”

The little boy still doesn’t answer and Harry frowns, because he’s trying to be nice. He looks at him for a moment before he realizes that this little boy might not understand that, so Harry gets up on his knees and crawls forward and wraps his arms around the little boy in a hug. “I’m friend,” Harry repeats, leaning back to smile encouragingly at the boy in front of him. “I Harry, what’s you name?”

The little boy shakes his head and Harry tries again to hug him, repeating that he’s this little boy’s friend, but the little boy won’t have any of it, he keeps trying to shrug out of Harry’s grasp until he’s crying, mouth open wide and tears beginning to form at his eyes.

“Don’t be sad,” Harry says, patting his hair and trying again to hug him. He tries to look around for the little boy’s mommy, wants to tell her that he’s sad, but he can’t see anyone with black hair like him, so Harry tries to hug him harder but the little boy shoves at him, letting go of his toys finally and pushing Harry off of him.

Harry stumbles backwards and lands on his butt, he stares up at the little boy for a moment, his own lip wobbling for a second. He can feel the tears forming behind his eyes, can feel the tremble of his lip, before his vision gets watery and he cries, pained sobs escaping his mouth because he just wanted to be the little boy’s friend. He just wanted to hug him so that he wouldn’t cry anymore. But the little boy is mean and Harry hates him and his stupid Buzz Lightyear toy as he cries, wishing that his mommy would come and find him.

It feels like it’s been hours since he started crying, his body shaking, and his mommy still hasn’t heard him. He tries calling out for her, shouting her name, but then he feels arms wrapped around him and black hair clouding his vision. He hiccups out a sob and rubs at his eyes, rubbing the tears out of them so he can see the same little boy that knocked him over pulling away from the hug.

“I’m Zayn,” the little boy says, sitting down next to Harry and handing him the boy Barbie doll. “Dat’s Aladdin.”

“Okay,” Harry hiccups, rubbing at his eyes. He takes the doll and holds it in his hand, it’s not wearing any clothes, but Harry’s not bothered. Gemma’s dolls are usually naked or in pink frilly dresses, he doesn’t want a doll with a frilly dress. “I’m you friend,” Harry repeats.

Zayn smiles at him and Harry forgets that he’s mad, forgets that he hated him and Buzz Lightyear, as he smiles back.

  
>><<

They’re five and in school the first time that they make a new friend.

Zayn and Harry are in the same class together, which is a relief to both of their mothers to know that the two little boys that bonded on the playground will have someone they know while making this new transition in life.

The classroom is bigger than Harry expected, filled with little boys and girls his age that are running around wildly, each one louder than the next as they run past him in circles, rushing off to grab whatever toy that they can. It makes Harry’s head spin, but it’s all right, because he has Zayn, his very best friend in the whole world.

“Zayn, are you done with that marker? I need to color the grass on my picture,” Harry says, dropping the red marker that he was using on the table impatiently, fighting back the urge to rip it from Zayn’s hand and use it, but Harry’s been told a million times that that’s not nice, and Zayn’s his friend, so he waits.

“Here you go, Harry,” Zayn says, handing Harry the marker before he grabs another, quickly moving his arm back in place so it’s blocking Harry’s view of the picture that he’s drawing.

That’s not nice, but Zayn says that it’s a surprise, so Harry thinks that he can wait. Maybe. He sits up a little straighter and sees that Zayn’s drawing a house, or at least Harry thinks it’s a house. He’s not sure; Zayn’s hair is blocking part of his view.

Harry shrugs and goes back to his own picture, a drawing of Dusty in his back yard with a tree and birds. Dusty loves birds, loves running with Harry in the yard as he rushes after them to scare them away.

They’re drawing quietly, time passing slowly as they wait for their mommies to get them when something, or rather someone, slams into the table that they’re sitting at. Harry looks up with a scowl, the little blond boy causing him to draw badly.

“Hey, you ruined my picture,” Harry says, scowling at the little boy across from him.

“I’m sorry,” the boy says, frowning for a second before he grins at them. “I’m Niall.”

“I’m Harry,” Harry says, resigned, because at least he said sorry, even if he did mess up Harry’s grass.

“I’m Zayn.”

“Hey, those are really cool drawings,” Niall says. “I love to color pictures. Can I color, too?”

“Only if you don’t hit the table,” Harry says, watching as the little boy climbs onto the seat across from him, the plastic blue chair skidding across the floor.

“I promise that I won’t,” Niall replies, shaking his head. “I love to draw, did I tell you that?” Zayn and Harry both nod. “Good, because I do. I also—um. I don’t have a tooth.” He opens his mouth wide and points to the top row of teeth.

“Wow,” Zayn and Harry say in unison, their eyes going wide.

“Yeah, my brother hit me in the face with a ball,” Niall explains, waving his arm around widely as he picks up a marker, tossing the cap to the side. Harry frowns, because he’s not even holding it in the right hand. “Do you have a brother?”

Harry and Zayn shake their head, causing Niall to pull a face.

Niall doesn’t seem to know how to stop talking, but Harry doesn’t mind listening to him. Sometimes, when other people are around, Zayn gets really quiet, so it’s nice to have someone around that Harry can talk to. Harry doesn’t get tired of his voice, even when it gets really high at certain points when Niall gets excited.

And later, when their new teacher is telling them that it’s time to pack up the markers, Harry sees the drawing that Zayn did for him, the one of two little boys, one with brown hair and the other with black. They’re holding hands in front of a house, Zayn says that it’s his, and they’re smiling wide.

It’s the prettiest picture that Harry’s ever seen.

“Wow,” Harry mutters before he’s diving forward to wrap his arms around Zayn, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you, Zayn.”

Zayn smiles at him and slides the paper across the table towards Harry so that he can take it home.

Harry is getting ready to put it in his bag when a small, pale hand grabs the corner.

“Wow,” Niall mumbles, smiling encouragingly at Zayn. “Next time, I should go here.” He points to the space between Harry and Zayn, the area around their clasped hands.

Harry doesn’t say anything, forgets to mention it because his mom is walking through the door, but he wants to tell Niall that nothing can come between him and Zayn, not even a new friend.

They stay friends with Niall; he’s good company, at the very least. His mom packs him extra snacks in his lunch and he shares them with Zayn and Harry. He makes them laugh, mostly, which Harry thinks is one of the very best things about friendship. And even though Harry is a bit wary about a new friend, when Niall helps Zayn after he falls off the slide Harry decides that he can’t be all that bad. So they keep him. He’ll never be as important to Harry as Zayn is, but it’s nice to have other friends. That’s what his mom tells him, anyway.

  
>><<

They’re eight when Zayn and Harry are separated into different classrooms for the first time.

It wasn’t an easy transition to make, going from spending all day with Zayn to just a few short hours on the playground during recess, but they manage, like they always have. It’s mostly hard because they’re not together, but Harry has Niall in his class, so he has someone to keep him company, unlike Zayn, and that makes Harry feel bad, makes him try a little bit harder to be the best friend that can.

Until one day.

Harry’s waiting on the swings, gripping the one next to him and telling everyone that they can’t use it because it’s taken. Honestly, only Zayn can use the swing next to him. He’s not going to allow anyone else to have it, even Niall, who is off playing with some of his other friends. Niall always says that he likes to use recess to run around the field with a ball rather than talk to Harry and Zayn, no matter how much he likes them.

That’s why Niall is only a good friend, and not Harry’s best friend.

So Harry’s waiting for him, dragging his shoe through the dirt when Zayn finally shows up five minutes after recess starts. He’s not alone; he’s standing next to a short boy with brown hair and blue eyes. He sizes Harry up, looking at him carefully with his hands placed on his hips and says, “Are you Zayn’s friend?”

“Yeah, this is Harry,” Zayn introduces, stepping in front of the boy and motioning towards Harry. It sets something off in his stomach - this unpleasant curl because Zayn never talks to people. He always, _always_ makes Harry do the talking until they get to know them better. That’s just how it is. But this boy seems to have Zayn talking, and Harry’s never even heard of him.

“I’m Louis,” the kid says, smiling at Harry before he steps forward and grabs the swing that Harry is clutching onto. “Can I use this?”

“No, it’s Zayn’s.”

“He can use it, I don’t mind,” Zayn interjects, and when Harry turns to look at him he’s grinning at Louis and not at Harry, setting that same feeling off in Harry’s stomach, only this time it’s worse, it makes him want to scream. He wants to jump up from his swing and scream that that’s Zayn’s swing and this is their recess and Louis can piss off and find his own place to play.

Harry has to bite his tongue against lashing out like that, because it’ll make Zayn mad, and that’s not what Harry wants.

He hopes that Louis goes away after today, hopes that he’s got another friend that’s home sick or something, because Harry doesn’t like this kid, doesn’t like his loud voice or his obnoxious laugh.

Only, Louis doesn’t go away after that. He’s everywhere.

He follows Zayn and Harry around the playground, constantly yapping in their ears about his mom and his sisters. But that’s just when him and Zayn aren’t giggling about their teacher, an older woman that is constantly yelling at Louis, because he’s constantly in trouble. He gets in trouble on purpose, which Harry thinks is a rather silly idea.

And every time that Louis is there, Harry finds himself wanting to snap, wanting to grab his shoulders and shove him away from them, because he’s always taking Zayn’s time and attention, which is bad enough in school that Harry goes home everyday to complain to his mom about the boy.

“How are you and Zayn, baby?” His mom asks and Harry scowls, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the television.

“He’s an idiot,” Harry grumbles, which doesn’t feel right on his tongue, but he’s angry, jealous even, that Zayn went off and made a new friend, didn’t ask if Harry wanted him to be their friend, just guessed that it was okay, which it’s not.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about your friend. How do you think he would feel if he knew that you’d said that?”

“I don’t care,” Harry huffs out, glaring at her, because she’s always on Zayn’s side. It’s not fair. She’s always on Gemma’s side too, which is even more annoying.

It’s the first time that Harry has complained about Zayn, complaining everyday after school that Zayn’s this and that. The tipping point though is when Harry calls Zayn one Saturday afternoon, missing his friend and wanting to spend time with him alone, just the two of them, - because Harry does feel bad about the stuff he says about Zayn to his mom – so he calls to see if Zayn wants to spend the night at his house.

“Oh, um, Harry, I can’t,” Zayn mumbles quietly into the phone.

“Are you in trouble?” Harry asks, because the only time that they’re not allowed to see each other is when they’re in trouble with their parents.

“No, I’m not in trouble,” Zayn says and Harry frowns, because he doesn’t understand. “I’m sleeping over at Louis’ house tonight.”

“Louis?”

“Yeah, he asked me at school and my mom said yes.”

Harry feels that angry flip in his stomach again, the sharp contraction of emotion bubbling up inside of him quickly. “Why would you want to sleep at his house for anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn mutters and Harry imagines him shrugging. “He’s my friend.”

“I know,” Harry shouts, his anger getting the best of him. “He’s your new best friend, so go have fun with Louis, because he’s your new best friend and I’m not.” He hangs up the phone, slamming it against the receiver and rushing to his bedroom so that he doesn’t have to answer his mom’s question about why he’s yelling.

He locks his door and drops down onto his bed, angry tears spilling into his pillow, because Zayn’s _his_ best friend, but he’s being stupid. And he went off and made a new friend, someone that’s more fun and tells better stories. He gets into trouble, never knowing when to be quiet and makes funny faces.

Louis, he thinks, if he wasn’t so blinded by jealously, wouldn’t be that bad of a guy. He’s nice, and likes to make people laugh. Sometimes - most of the time - he says stuff that Harry doesn’t like, but Zayn told him about the kid that he pushed in the bathroom when they were out of sight of their teacher because he made fun of the holes in Zayn’s shoes, the ones he got when he and Harry were exploring the creek in his grandma’s backyard.

Harry would have shoved the kid for Zayn, if he had known about it, but Zayn didn’t even tell him. He keeps all kinds of secrets from him, tells Louis stuff that he’ll never know about, and it makes him sad, and makes him cry even harder.

Harry doesn’t hear from Zayn all weekend, and on Monday, he hides behind the tree in the field where Niall likes to play. He does it again on Tuesday and Wednesday too, trying his best not to wonder if Zayn’s looking for him, if he even realizes that Harry’s missing. But on Thursday, when he’s tapping his thumbs against his knees, Zayn finds him.

It startles him at first, a body dropping down beside him and smiling nervously at him, but as soon as he sees that it’s Zayn, he scowls, glaring at him. He’s avoiding him for a reason. It’s been _days_ and Zayn didn’t even _try_ and find him before now.

“Where’s Louis?”

“I don't know,” Zayn says, shrugging.

“You must miss him, since he’s your best friend,” Harry snarls, the words spilling out of him, because he hates that he’s not Zayn’s best friend anymore. Hates that it makes him sad, hates that it makes him hug his mom every night, because it feels like something is missing, but he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t understand that people can have more than one best friend.

“He’s not my best friend.”

“Yes he is.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Harry scoffs, stretching his legs out and picking at rip of his jeans at his knee. “I _was_ your best friend.”

Zayn shakes his head, determined. “You’re the best person that I know, and I didn’t have much fun at Louis’ house. He’s got sisters, like me, not just one like you. And they’re both younger and they were following us around. He doesn’t have the fun games like you do, and I had to sleep on the floor,” Zayn grumbles and Harry giggles, because Zayn hates sleeping on the floor. They always cram into the same bed, their elbows digging into each other and their knees knocking together.

Harry thinks he should feel bad to know that Zayn had such a lousy time, but he doesn’t. Not even a little bit. He’s happy. Harry’s glad that Zayn didn’t have that great of a time and that he’s still his very best friend in the entire world. Hopefully, Zayn didn’t clarify, but he did say they were best friends and not him and Louis, so that has to mean something.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Harry mutters, knocking his shoe against Zayn’s. “I was just sad.”

“I’m sorry I made you sad,” Zayn says. “Louis doesn’t have many friends, and I’m always telling him about my best friend, so he wanted to meet you. I didn’t know that you hated him. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t hate him, I just don’t want him to be your best friend.”

“He won’t be, because his best friend is Liam.”

“Liam?” Harry asks, because he doesn’t know anyone named Liam, maybe he’s a boy in Zayn and Louis’ class.

Zayn shrugs, and Harry nods, unbothered by this Liam guy. He’s too busy feeling content to know that he hasn’t lost Zayn.

  
>><<

They’re ten when Zayn’s little sister is born.

Babies, as Harry finds out, aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Before, when he didn’t have to see one every time he went to Zayn’s house, he thought they were cute, cuddly, and happy all the time, but now. Now Harry knows differently.

Her name is Safaa and she cries, this horrible screaming sound, but it’s only sometimes. Because another thing Harry learns is that babies sleep a lot. When he goes over to Zayn’s house to meet her for the first time, it’s two weeks after she’s born. He’s not allowed to hold her, something that he’s thankful for because she’s so small, teeny tiny and wrapped in a light yellow blanket, but she sleeps the whole time, only waking up to scream before she falls back asleep.

He used to think that they were fun, cute even, and they still are – Safaa is at least – but they’re boring and a bit pointless, if he’s being honest.

Zayn’s only partial on her, himself. He had cried in Harry’s room for about an hour when his parents told him that it was girl, because he had wanted so desperately to have a brother, like how Doniya had Waliyha when she wanted a sister. He cried about how it’s not fair that he doesn’t have a brother.

“Why did it have to be a girl?” Zayn had cried, hiccupping a bit and rubbing at his eyes harshly, trying his best to hide it from Harry.

But he got used to the idea and learned to love her… for the most part. He did at first, always wanting to help his mom out with her, constantly telling Harry that he had to stay home because his mom needed someone to help, especially when his dad was having to work late to make up for lost money while his mom was on leave.

Harry thought that everything was going well, until one day when Niall, Louis and Zayn are over for a sleepover. They’re lying down in the dark, Niall and Louis in sleeping bags on the floor while Zayn and Harry are on the bed, spilling their secrets to each other.

“Greg let me try one of his beers,” Niall admits, already giggling at himself. “It tasted bad, but I acted like it didn’t, you know, so he wouldn’t laugh at me.”

“You didn’t taste a beer, you’re a liar,” Louis accuses.

“Yes I did, ask him!”

“Does your dad know?” Zayn asks, laughing.

“No, that’s why it’s a secret, duh,” Niall says, and Harry can hear his eye roll from across the room.

Louis scoffs, still not believing him, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. “I don’t have anything good,” he says, sighing, because Louis’ favorite thing is bragging about all the mischief he causes. “My mom said that the only way I could come over was if I was good all week, it was so hard.”

“That’s because you’re so horrible,” Harry jokes, forcing a laugh out of Zayn.

“Oh yeah? Well what did you do this week, Harry? Did you forget to do the dishes when your mom asked?” Louis sneers and Harry glares at him, it’s not his fault that he’s not a troublemaker like Louis is.

“I didn’t do anything bad, but Gemma did. She got caught kissing a boy at school,” Harry admits, nodding even though no one can see him in the darkened room.

“Wow,” Niall sighs, and Harry’s not sure if he’s amazed or a little bit jealous. Niall’s always going on about Harry’s family, always saying how pretty his mom and sister are. It’s annoying and a little disturbing because they’re not pretty; they’re his mom and sister. It’s weird. “What about you, Zayn? What’s your secret?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn says quietly and there is something about the way he says it that makes Harry perk up, like he really needs to hear what Zayn is about to say.

“Come on, you can tell us anything,” Louis says as way of encouragement.

It’s quiet for a minute, like Zayn’s trying to think of what to say and no one rushes him; they wait in the silence while he tries to figure it out. Sometimes Zayn needs a little bit longer than everyone else, just a little bit of extra time to figure out how to get his thoughts into words.

“I don’t think my parents like me anymore,” Zayn admits and Harry turns on his side to listen closely, because Zayn sounds sad, and Harry knows him well enough to know the cracks in Zayn’s voice.

“Why do you say that?” Harry asks quietly.

“Because of Safaa, they’re always with her and doing stuff with her. I try to help but I usually end up getting yelled at because I do it wrong, they don’t pay me any attention,” Zayn whispers, sighing.

“Oh Zayn, that’s nothing,” Louis mumbles around a yawn. “When my sisters were born that happened, it’s just because she’s new. Don’t worry, they’ll get bored of her.”

“Yeah, she’s just a baby,” Niall says, which isn’t at all helpful. Harry frowns at both of them, wants to tell them off when they dive into a conversation of their own, confessing their own secrets to each other. Harry doesn’t care for the game much anymore, not when he knows that Zayn is upset.

“I bet they still love you,” Harry whispers quietly so that only Zayn hears his voice.

Zayn sighs and turns on his side so he’s facing Harry, their knees knocking together. “I don’t think so,” he says, resigned. “It’s like, when I passed my math test, I wanted to show them, tried to show them, but they didn’t really care.”

“It’s like Louis said, she’s new, and they’re a little distracted, but that doesn’t mean they don’t care about you,” Harry says. “You’re your dad’s favorite.”

Zayn sighs again and the breath fans out across Harry’s face, he’s close, so Harry reaches out and pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“You’re my favorite,” Harry confesses. “And I still like you, no matter how many people have babies.”

Zayn laughs and shoves his face into Harry’s shoulder. “You’re my favorite, too.”

When he pulls away there’s a smile on Zayn’s face, so he thinks that it’ll be okay. And it is, of course it is. Not even a few weeks later Zayn’s parents take the two of them to the Science Center to see the new dinosaur exhibition while Zayn’s aunts watch his sisters. Zayn doesn’t complain about the baby again after that, well, for the most part. She’s still a baby after all, not many people can take all that crying.

  
>><<

They’re twelve when Harry enters the school talent show, signing up as a singing act.

The auditorium is full of people, more than he’s ever seen in the school before. They’re talking amongst themselves, waiting for the program to start and he feels sick. His knees are shaking, his palms sweating, because there are so many people in the audience, so many faces that are going to be staring at him when he steps out from behind the curtain to sing his song. He wishes that he had checked the sign-up sheet, that he would have taken the time to learn how many people signed-up so he could guess how many of them would bring their parents, and it looks like some grandparents, siblings, aunts and uncles probably, too.

It’s too many, the crowd is too full and Harry’s too scared to do this. He’s been practicing for weeks at home in his bedroom, singing in his mirror, and it all worked out, as well as it could when you’re singing to no one. He had even tried it in front of Zayn and Safaa, because she’s only two and she’s not going to judge him. Both of them said he did great, Safaa even gave him a sloppy kiss to the cheek before she ran off.

But this crowd… it’s so full.

Even classmates that didn’t sign up are in the crowd, and really, it’s only fair that they’re just not allowed to show up at all. They’re only making it worse for people like Harry, the ones who get spontaneously nervous.

He feels like he’s going to get sick, so he flees, rushing off towards the bathroom so he doesn’t vomit all over his good clothes, the brand new sweater that his mom bought him. She’d be so mad if he got sick on them.

Harry runs as fast as his feet will take him, running into people and props from the school play until he finds the toilets. He can hear someone calling for him, but his ears are ringing and he can’t make out the voice. He locks the door for good measure, dropping down on his knees, he cries.

He feels so stupid, he should have never thought that he could sing in front of a crowd of people. He’s not even that good, but he wants to do this for his mom. He wants to do something that would make her happy, wants to get up on stage and sing her favorite Stevie Wonder song since he couldn’t afford a Christmas gift, but there’s too many people.

It’s too much for him, and he’s embarrassed. Crying alone in the bathroom.

Someone is banging on the door, repeating his name over and over again, begging him to open up, but his cries are too loud and he has trouble talking.

“I’ll be—I’ll be out-t in a min-n-nute,” Harry says, sniffing loudly as he rubs at his nose and his eyes, trying to stop the tears.

“Harry, it’s me,” says the voice, and Harry holds his breath, pausing his cries so he can figure out who it is. “Can you let me in? What happened?”

It’s Zayn and for some reason that thought makes him cry harder as he scoots away from the door. Still on his knees, he opens the door, shutting it immediately, almost hitting Zayn with it when he lets him in.

“What’s wrong?” Zayn asks, eyes wide like he’s scared. “I came back to say good luck and I saw you run away. Why are you crying?”

“I can’t sing-g for thos-se pe-e-ople, Zayn,” Harry stammers, trying his best not to cry. “There are-are so many of them.” He rubs at his nose and cries a bit harder when he sees that he’s got snot on the edge of his sweater. He’s miserable and he wants to go home. Maybe Zayn can sneak him out and they can run away and never come back.

“Why not?” Zayn asks, frowning as he kneels down in front of Harry. “I thought you wanted to?”

“I do, but not that many,” Harry hiccups, only choking a little on the words. He feels calmer now that he knows Zayn isn’t going to mock him or laugh at him. He’s listening, like he understands.

“It’s gonna be okay, Harry,” Zayn soothes, grabbing Harry’s hand and squeezing. “You’re the best singer, and I’ll be out there. Your family is in the front row, I’ll go sit by them, and just look at me, okay? Can you look at me?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers, rubbing tears off his cheeks. “What about the other people, though?”

“Ignore them. Just look at me, it’ll be just like when you’re singing to me and Safaa,” Zayn explains, earnestly. “The program said you’re number eighteen, so do you think you can do it?”

Harry looks up at Zayn and bites his lip, staring at him intently. Zayn’s smiling encouragingly at him, a hopeful look on his face and Harry’s still nervous, still scared out of his mind about singing in front of all those people, but he thinks he can do it, if he pretends the other people aren’t there. If he can imagine that they’re locked in Harry’s bedroom and Zayn is sitting on his bed, grinning at him and nodding along, mouthing the words to the song as Harry sings.

“Okay, I can do that,” Harry agrees, nodding firmly.

Zayn grins and hugs him, squeezing him tightly. “Just look for me, okay?”

Zayn hugs him once more before he’s gone, leaving Harry alone in the bathroom to clean the tears off his face and calm himself down.

When the principal announces Harry’s name, says that he’ll be singing a song for them, Harry does his best to fight down the butterflies in his stomach as he steps on stage, eyes cast downward when he takes the microphone. His eyes scan the crowd but he can’t find Zayn and the bubble of panic forming again. He can’t find Zayn anywhere, all the faces in the crowd blur together.

As the applause dies down and Harry’s eyes continues to scan the crowd does he find Zayn, he’s sitting on the ground in front of Harry’s mom, Safaa in his lap as she claps, grinning at him. He smiles at Harry, shoots him a thumbs up and it’s all Harry needs to sing, taking a deep breath before he launches into the song.

It’s goes perfectly and his mother kisses him when Harry sees her later, not even mad that he got snot on his sweater. Zayn and Safaa aren’t there, but Harry can thank his best friend later.

  
>><<

They’re fourteen the first time that Zayn mentions having a crush on a girl.

It’s a Saturday afternoon, and it’s raining, coming down so hard that the only thing they can do is sit in Harry’s bedroom and wish for blue skies. It’s the worst thing about spring, it brings warmer weather but it also brings rain. Harry hates it.

“Do you think it’s ever gonna stop?” Harry asks, his forehead pressed against the glass of his window.

“How many times are you going to ask that?” Zayn groans and Harry turns to look at him, shrugging.

“Probably not until it stops,” Harry replies and Zayn rolls his eyes. “Do you want to go to the movies? Gem would probably drive us, if we ask her at the right time.”

“Nah, I don’t really want to leave the house.”

“Do you want to play video games? My mom bought me a new one; I’ve not even opened it yet. It could be fun,” Harry reasons.

“Could we just like, sit here?” Zayn asks, folding his leg over the other. “We can do something tomorrow, Louis has been begging us to go over to his house. We’ll do something tomorrow, and it’s almost dinner time, can’t we just sit here?”

“Yeah I guess,” Harry replies, shrugging. He hates just sitting around, can practically feel every fiber of his being vibrating, pulsing with this need to just move. But Zayn’s not like that, he’s content to stay in the house, content to lie in bed and just talk. “Let’s play truth or dare.”

“I hate that game,” Zayn groans, shaking his head. “And how are we supposed to do any dares? Your mom will kill us if we mess up the house. You just got ungrounded.”

“I wasn’t grounded,” Harry retorts. “Being grounded is supposed to be for more than one day, I was just letting her cool off.”

“Right,” Zayn snorts, rolling his eyes. “I was here when she yelled at you, remember? She made Robin give me a ride home.”

“Yeah well, it was you who knocked the vase over anyway. I should go tell her.”

“You wouldn’t tell her.”

Harry shrugs his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. He wouldn’t really tell on Zayn, he’d have no one to hang out with if Zayn got in trouble, and his parents aren’t like Harry’s, they’re not going to ground him. They lecture him, make him think about his actions and then he’s allowed to come over and see Harry or go to see Niall or Louis or any other one of his friends.

“Do you know Ariana?” Zayn asks after a minute, biting the inside of his cheek and looking at Zayn.

“The girl in our math class?” Harry asks, confused. “The brunette, right? The one that is constantly answering all the questions?”

“Yeah, what do you think about her?”

“I don’t think anything of her,” Harry admits, shrugging. “She’s nice enough, pretty cute, really smart, but I don’t talk to her. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Zayn mutters quickly, shaking his head.

Harry looks at him, squinting in suspicion before he grins, lunging forward to tackle Zayn on the bed, knocking him over with a grunt.

“Does Zayn have a crush?” Harry teases, trying to wrestle Zayn so he can tickle his sides, the other boy thrashing around underneath him, laughing as he tries to shove Harry off of him.

“Get off me,” Zayn cries.

“Not until you tell me, do you like her?”

“Okay, okay. Yeah, I like her,” Zayn admits and Harry ceases his assault on Zayn’s ribs, grinning. “I don’t want anyone to know, though. She’s just cute, is all.”

“You should ask her to the spring dance.”

“She wouldn’t say yes to me.”

“No, not unless she already had a date. And then she’s just be stupid not to drop him for you.”

“Haz, come on.”

“Zayn, I’m being serious. You should ask her,” Harry encourages, still smiling at Zayn. It’s the first time that the other boy has mentioned having some kind of crush. Harry has been going through them for more than a year now, constantly telling Zayn about different girls, Taylor, Cara, Kendall, Caroline, but this is the first time that Zayn’s done the same, and Harry wants Zayn to experience all the things that he is, just like the other kids in school.

“I’d be embarrassed if she said no,” Zayn says, biting his lip. “She’s really cute, Harry.”

“How about this, if you ask Ariana out tomorrow, then I’ll ask out Daisy, just to the dance, that’s all. You can suggest going as friends, girls love that.”

“You really think that she’ll say yes to me?”

Harry nods. “Of course she will.”

Zayn sighs and nods, still chewing on his lip.

The next day, after math, Zayn waits by the door for Ariana while Harry tries to hide behind his English teacher, spying on the pair of them.

And on the day of the dance, both of them go with the girls they asked that day, only after they pose for a million different pictures for their parents. It’s the night Zayn has his first kiss and Harry screams in excitement about it for hours, until Zayn shoves a sock in his mouth, his cheeks stained red. 

  
>><<

They’re sixteen when Harry realizes that he might like boys.

It’s not a sudden realization, and it’s not really surprising when he figures it out. It feels right, in an odd way. Naturally, he’s worried about what people will think, but not those closest to him, because really, he’s not even sure if he likes boy or if it’s just Zayn.

The thought occurred to him one day during one of his and Zayn’s study dates, the pair frantically trying to pass their exams coming up. It’s an odd realization, one minute he’s focusing on Zayn’s words, listening as he explains biology to Harry, something about cells and atoms, but then the next minute he’s watching the way that Zayn’s lips move, the way his tongue creeps out, wetting them when he pauses. Harry finds himself wondering how they’d feel pressed against his skin, and that’s a thought he’s never had before, not one about his friend, anyway.

“Harry, are you even listening?” Zayn asks, exasperated.

“What?” Harry asks, shaking himself from his thoughts. “Yeah, sorry.”

“This is probably why you’re failing the class, your head is in the clouds,” Zayn jokes, shaking his head.

It happens again, Harry noticing things about Zayn that he hasn’t before, like the way Zayn’s hands move when he talks, which okay. He’s always known that Zayn is an animated talker, but he’s never imagined what those hands could do. He’s never thought about them digging into his skin when he kisses him, if Zayn would cup his jaw and run his hands through his hair, or if he’s grip onto Harry’s hip, holding him still.

The thoughts keep him up at night, because he falls asleep thinking of Zayn, and not of anything that they’ve done during the day, but of just Zayn as a person, the way he flicks his hair out of his eyes, the way he sticks his tongue out when he laughs sometimes, when he’s feeling a bit cocky and confident in himself. He thinks about Zayn’s tongue, and the way it presses against his teeth when he smiles, or how his eye squints when he’s emphasizing a certain point in whatever he’s talking about. It’s just little things, the things that build Zayn up as a person, setting him apart from everyone else.

But when he does fall asleep, it’s rare that he can stay asleep. Usually he’ll wake up hard, panting from a dream where he’s pinned down to his bed. He hasn’t had thoughts like these in ages, where he wakes up and needs to get off, or wakes up with his sheets soaked. It’s embarrassing, like he’s twelve again and doesn’t know how to control his body or hormones.

It’s exhausting, but Harry knows that he has to do something. He’s never been one to just ignore his feelings for someone, to brush them under the rug and avoid them. He’s told everyone he’s ever had feelings for about them, even girls that he knew wouldn’t like him, but it’s been than just holding onto these feelings and wondering, hoping that something could happen. Sure it might be awkward at first, and yeah, maybe Zayn won’t like him back and they’ll avoid each other for a week or two before they laugh it off and make joke about it, but Harry can’t just not tell him, he’s never been good at keeping secrets from Zayn.

“Zayn,” Harry says, taking a deep breath to brace himself for it, pausing the video game they’re playing. “I have to tell you something.”

“All right, yeah,” Zayn says, licking his lip. Harry really wishes that he would stop doing that, that he would stop licking his fucking lips and driving Harry crazy. “What is it?”

“Have you ever, like, thought about guys?” Harry asks, watching as Zayn frowns, not understanding what he’s asking. “Like, have you ever thought about one before?”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking,” Zayn mutters, frowning. Harry groans into his hands, mumbling against his palm that he needs to just say it. It’s never been this hard before. He can talk to Zayn about anything. Anything in the world, but for some reason—well, not just _some_ reason. It’s a very specific reason. “Harry? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just, I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Yeah, I know that, but I just don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me. Thinking about guys doesn’t really say anything. What am I supposed to think about them?”

“Like do you ever want to be with them,” Harry says, biting his bottom lip. “Have you ever had a crush on a boy before?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh_.”

Zayn sighs, his shoulders sagging a bit. “Yeah, I think I have.”

“You have?” Harry says, perking up immediately. There’s a stupid flicker of hope in his chest that it could be him. It has to be. If it’s not—no. It’s Harry. No one else would make sense.

“Yeah, like, I kind of do right now. I never wanted to say anything, though. I wasn’t sure how you’d react,” Zayn admits.

“Oh my god, no. That’s great, because like, me too,” Harry says and he can’t stop smiling, can’t stop this giant bubble of hope that’s growing inside of him.

“You too?” Zayn repeats, sitting up a little straighter, his own expression mimicking Harry’s. “You like a boy?”

“Fuck, yes,” Harry says and he wants to scream, wants to jump up and just scream about how exciting this is, because people tell stories about how horribly wrong a conversation like this could go. “And you do?” Zayn nods. “Who is it?”

“It’s Liam,” Zayn admits shyly and it feels like bits of Harry’s world has come tumbling down on him. He can feel his smile falter, along with everything else. And Zayn’s looking back at him, frowning, but Harry can’t seem to do anything besides frown, can’t do anything besides wonder where this went wrong. He wonders how stupid he had to be to think that Zayn could possibly want to be with him, could possibly want to take things a step beyond friends.

They’ve been friends forever, is the thing. And that’s not exactly the kind of situation that most people want to get into, but Liam is… Harry’s only met him a few times, usually over summer when he comes to visit Louis, and it makes sense that Zayn would like him. He’s nice, a little bit quiet at times. They’re both into comic books and superheroes, have the same taste in music, and god.

Harry’s so stupid. He can’t believe that he ever thought anything would come of this, but he can’t tell Zayn now. He just can’t. That’s a burden that Zayn shouldn’t have to carry, so Harry’s going to hold onto it for him, and anything else that Zayn wants him to. He’ll keep his secret and he’ll keep Zayn’s secret about Liam, keep them both locked away in the depths of his heart where no one can find them, hopefully not even him.

“You remember Liam, right?” Zayn asks, probably wondering why Harry’s being so quiet, why he’s not showing signs of being more supportive.

“Yeah, yeah. I remember him, I just. It’s been so long since we’ve seen him, like two months,” Harry says. “How long have you had feelings for him?”

Zayn shrugs, his cheeks flaming up. “We’ve been talking since the start of summer.”

“Okay, like talking talking or _talking_ talking?”

“ _Talking_ talking,” Zayn clarifies. “It’s been like, a huge secret, actually.”

“A secret?” Harry asks, bile rising in his throat, as he fears the worst.

“Yeah, like. Remember that party Louis threw? The one that the cops busted?” Harry nods. “We like, kind of hooked up that night. I think Niall found us in the basement, he didn’t see anything, so he was clueless about what was happening, but like, we almost did.”

“So you’ve been like, hiding this from me?” Harry asks, frowning. They don’t—Secrets aren’t their style. They’re not. At least not from Harry’s end. Well, besides his crush on Zayn, but that’s four hundred percent different. It’s not even comparable.

“Harry, I wasn’t trying to hide it from you,” Zayn assures him, turning towards him more so they’re facing each other completely. “I just. I don’t know. I’ve never done shit with a guy before, I didn’t know who to tell or what to do.”

“What shit have you done together?” Harry asks despite the voice inside of his head screaming at him not to torture himself like that, it’s bad enough that Zayn has feelings for Liam.

Zayn bites his lip and it tells Harry everything he needs to know.

He wants to throw up, needs to get away from Zayn as quickly as he can, but he can’t. He can’t flee, because leaving would look like Harry had to get out of there because he’s not supportive of Zayn and Liam, and not because of his own heart, but because of the fact that Zayn’s now sleeping with a boy. Harry’s never reacted this way when Zayn told him about the sex he’s had with girls, not one of them, so he doesn’t want to set Zayn off, but it fucking _hurts_.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Zayn mumbles, looking at Harry sadly. “I wanted to, but it’s different, you know? I thought that… I don’t know what I thought, it was just easier to keep quiet about it.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” Harry says, smiling at him. “It’s just, I didn’t expect it. I thought that I’d tell you that I liked a boy, assure you that everything was going to be all right and that it’d all be the same. You just threw me off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, nodding, and because he has a penchant for pain, he adds, “Now tell me about this secret lovers thing you’ve got going on with Liam, I want all the dirty details.

Zayn grins and visibly relaxes and even though he hates knowing that Zayn is happy with someone else, at least Zayn is happy, and that’s all Harry can hope for.

Harry wants to hate Liam. He does. He spends most of the summer wishing that he were someone else. Someone with muscles and a mean glare to keep Liam away, but that’s not him. Despite his own feelings for Zayn, Harry wants what’s best for him, so he swallows it all down. He swallows every romantic feeling towards Zayn, every ounce of heartbreak he feels when he sees them together, and every wish that it was him into a tiny little box in the parts of his heart where he’ll never find it.

Zayn’s his best friend. He’s the absolute best person that Harry has ever met, and he can be happy for him. He can. He will, even if it kills him with every passing day to know that he’s not even good enough for his best friend.

Liam starts visiting more frequently now that Harry knows about their relationship. That or Harry’s mind absolutely hates him and is picking up on things just to torture him. Either way, Liam’s car seems to always be parked outside of Zayn’s house. And he’s not stalking him. He’s really not, but he has to drive past the other boy’s house to get to his own and he sees it, the stupid red Ford parked outside.

So Liam comes around a lot, which is fine. Harry doesn’t own their town – if he did then the other boy would be banned. And Zayn tries his hardest to get Harry to come around, but he doesn’t. He tries. Of course he does, because as it turns out, Harry will do anything for Zayn, even if it means sacrificing his own heart. But it doesn’t work out for long, because it’s too much.

Zayn’s always considerate of him, doing his best not to act like a lovesick teenager around Harry when he joins the couple, but…

It doesn’t matter how hard Zayn tries, Harry still knows that it’s there, and slowly but surely Harry starts to seclude himself. It’s not on purpose, of course not, but it happens. He stops hanging out with Zayn as much, makes up excuses for why he can’t come over, and spends most of his time in his bedroom, listening to sad music and pretending that his mother is clueless as to why he spends all of his time alone.

It’s just easier.

But with most things, it doesn’t go unnoticed. Zayn isn’t obtuse, Harry knows this, but it doesn’t stop him from looking surprised when Zayn storms into his bedroom after nearly a month and a half of blowing the other boy off. It was bound to happen, but still. Harry has a right to act shocked.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” He shouts, hand over his heart. No one was supposed to be home tonight. His mom and stepdad went out for the night and Gemma’s off at school. “Did you knock?”

“Yeah, but you probably couldn’t hear me over—What is this?” Zayn asks, hitting pause on the stereo. “Are you listening to your mom’s CDs?”

“No. Shut up,” Harry mumbles defensively. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re not answering your phone.”

“I’m busy.”

“Doing what? Listening to—Okay, honestly. What the hell were you listening to?”

Harry doesn’t know who it is, so he shrugs. He just remembers his mom listening to that CD a lot when his parents got divorced and she was always sad. That’s all he really knows about it. It’s good for a broken heart, for a heart that pines for another. It’s all a metaphor for what’s happening inside of him.

“Is that what you do now? Is this why you don’t ever return my fucking calls?”

“I do other things,” he mumbles, waving his hand around. Last night he ate a bowl of ice cream and watched Love Actually. And the night before he finished his English homework and the paper that’s not due for another two weeks. So yeah, he’s been doing things. “Why do you need me to return your calls?”

“I want to see you,” Zayn says like it’s the obvious answer and Harry’s an idiot for even asking. “You like, disappear all the fucking time. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine—yeah. I’m just…you know, going through a slump. It’s a funk. A teenage crisis. Whatever.”

“Right, well no one says they’ve seen you outside of school in weeks.”

“That’s not true. I hung out with Louis last week, like…on Wednesday or whatever. And Niall and I went to a movie the week before, I think. I know we went, I just don’t remember the exact date. People have seen me. Louis’ girlfriend saw me at the grocery store last night.” So there, Harry thinks, trying not to stick his tongue out. He doesn’t know why he’s so miserable about this.

Okay. That’s a lie. He’s miserable because of Liam. Stupid, not-at-all funny, kind of a nice person, Liam; the person who has single handedly ruined Harry’s life. That Liam. That’s why he’s miserable because Harry was here first, damn it.

“Alright, so you’re hanging out with everyone but me. Any reason why?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know.” He sighs and shrugs once more, because he can’t tell Zayn that it’s because he’s happy and in love and Harry’s alone and miserable and he hates it. “I’m sorry?”

Zayn shakes his head at him. “Well, are you busy tonight? Or do I need to ask that CD if I can steal you away for a couple hours.”

“I might be free. It depends on what you’ve got planned.”

“Well, and hear me out, okay?” Harry nods. “I was talking to Liam and he said—wait. Why did you roll your eyes?”

“I didn’t,” Harry says quickly, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You were talking to Liam? And?”

Zayn looks at him suspiciously for a moment before he nods, breathing out. “Right, so I was talking to him about you and why you were hiding out from me and I get it. I think. Well, Liam kind of did.”

“And what did he get?” Harry asks nervously, biting down on his bottom lip because if Liam has some hidden power where he can sense these sorts of things then—well, to put it bluntly, Harry is screwed.

“Well, he just said that you might like, lonely or whatever. I’ve got Liam and you’re single, and I know that I spend a lot of time with Liam, so like, we wanted to find you someone.”

“Find me someone?”

“Yeah, Liam has this friend. His name is Tom, and I know that I should have asked you, but he seems like a really great guy. And like, I don’t know. Liam and I thought it was a good idea.”

“You set me up on a date?”

“A double date, so it won’t be awkward for you.”

Oh wonderful. That’s everything that Harry wants and needs, to be forced in the company of some guy he doesn’t give a shit about while the guy he gives every shit about is sitting across from him with someone else.

It’s the worst date that Harry has ever been on. Hands down. But it’s for Zayn and Zayn’s his best friend, so he goes. Tom is… He’s not Zayn, but he’s alright. He has a nice smile and would probably be decent enough if Harry hadn’t spend the fifteen minutes getting ready stewing in anger. Mad about the fact that Zayn would force him to go out, mad that Liam would suggest something like this, like he’s ever spoken more than three sentences at a time to Harry in his entire fucking life. He’s mad that he’s a spineless wimp that can’t get over a stupid crush on his best friend and that he let it control his life to the point where he’s agreeing to go on a double date just to make Zayn happy while he’s miserable.

So dinner doesn’t go as well as Zayn and Liam were probably hoping, Harry suspects. He’s rude, almost obnoxiously so, to everyone sat at the table. It’s like there’s a little monster in his brain gnawing at him, making it impossible for him to act like a decent, normal human.

Zayn’s getting annoyed, but Harry can’t stop. He wishes that he could, because it’s not Tom’s fault. It’s not Liam’s fault or Zayn’s. It’s his. But he just—he can’t stop. He feels like he’s twelve all over again, sitting on the floor of the bathroom backstage and crying his heart out, so upset and so unable to control the emotions coursing through him.

“Harry, can I talk to you for a second?” Zayn says and Harry’s not surprised to see the flecks of anger in his eyes. He shrugs and stands up, already walking towards the exit. He can hear Zayn behind him, his shoes squeaking against the floor as he stomps angrily behind Harry.

Harry folds his arms over his chest when he gets outside, trying his best to look bored.

“What the fuck are you doing in there, Harry?” Harry shrugs. “No, what’s your problem? You’re being a dick.”

“I’m sorry, I just really don’t want to be here.”

“Then why did you agree to come?”

“You broke into my house, it didn’t seem like I had much of a choice in the matter. I thought you were going to drag me out if I said no.”

“Oh what-the-fuck-ever, Harry,” Zayn scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I invited you because I thought it was something that you’d want to do. You could have said no. When have I ever forced you into doing something?”

Harry shrugs. They’ve been friends for years, there is obviously an instance of when it happened and just because neither of them can remember it in this moment doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen. “You and your boyfriend don’t need to concern yourselves with my love life,” Harry says eventually. “Or my life at all, for that matter. I’m fine.”

“Right. Listening to that fucking CD alone in your house is really fine.”

“It is. I’m sure you listen to music.”

“You’re right, I do. But I don’t shut out my best friend and everyone that I know to do so. I also don’t show up and act like a complete cock to everyone in the same room as me because I’m a miserable fucking baby about god knows what.”

Harry glares, staring at Zayn with more anger than he knew possible because fuck Zayn. Fuck him and his inability to notice anything other than his stupid boyfriend. Fuck him and the way that he makes Harry feel and fuck him for not caring.

“You’re right. I’m miserable. You win, can I go home now, Zayn?”

“What am I supposed to tell Tom? Oh sorry the best friend that I’ve been talking up for the past two weeks is miserable and wanted to go home so he can cry into his couch cushions about what a lame night he’s hand. When the only reason it’s been a shitty night is because of you, Harry,” Zayn shouts.

“I don’t know, you’ll have to talk to Liam. Maybe Liam can tell you how to handle me and this night, since he’s one who came up with this stupid idea in the first place.”

“He was trying to help.”

“I don’t care,” Harry shouts, his voice loud, echoing in the quiet of the night. “I didn’t ask for his opinion. I don’t even know why you’d want to talk to me when you’re with him anyway. Keep my name out of your mouth when you’re with Liam fucking Payne.”

“Oh fuck you, Harry,” Zayn mutters, waving him off before he storms back inside. Whatever. Harry really doesn’t care.

Harry gets into his car and drives home, because it’s better there. Because he’s a royal asshole that doesn’t know how to do anything besides ruin everything. He’s ruining his friendship with Zayn, he ruined a perfectly fine date with someone who didn’t deserve his attitude, and he’s ruining himself.

When Harry gets home he puts his CD back on and cries into his couch just like Zayn predicted he would. He’s a cliché, almost like he stepped right out of a rom com from the 80s or something.

They don’t talk for two weeks. Harry falls back into his depressing routine of spending all his time alone listening to music and catching up on his studies. He finds a different route home, a longer one so he doesn’t have to see Liam’s car parked outside of his house.

It’s the longest that they’ve ever gone without each other, and Harry misses him. He knows that it’s his fault, but. Harry’s always had too much pride, he can admit that, and right now his pride has him dodging Zayn in the halls at school. He keeps his head down in math and spends lunch in the library.

Niall spends the first week lecturing Harry, reminding him of how long they’ve been friends and trying to understand why Harry is so upset in the first place. Harry only snaps on him once, because the look on Niall’s face afterwards makes him feel awful.

Louis spends the next week yelling at Harry and telling him to pull his head out of his ass. Louis, unlike Niall, knows that Harry is jealous and miserable because of Liam. He doesn’t know the real reason, but Liam is his best friend, so of course he knows what happened that night on the date. And Zayn probably told Liam everything that Harry said, and then Liam told Louis.

“I am not jealous,” Harry says, glaring at him. “And even if I was, what do you care?”

“I care because the less you hang out with Zayn the less I get to hang out with Liam. Do you understand what I’m saying here?”

“No,” Harry says stubbornly, refusing to look up at his friend.

“It means that the more miserable you make yourself, the more miserable Zayn is, which means Liam thinks he has to visit him more to make him feel better, which in turn means that I get to see my best friend less,” Louis explains, pulling Harry’s phone out of his hand so he’s forced to look at him. “I get it, okay? Zayn was your shiny toy first. Trust me. Liam was mine first too. But like, get over it?”

“I’m not mad because I think Zayn is my toy.”

“You know what I’m saying, Harry,” Louis mutters, sounding bored. “You’re kicking and screaming for Zayn’s attention, except, you’re doing it by ignoring him. It’s kind of weird.”

“Zayn doesn’t care,” Harry insists and Louis sighs, shaking his head like he’s disappointed. Whatever, he can take his judgmental eyes and get the hell out of Harry’s face with them.

But of course Louis’ words stick with him and settle deep in his mind and body, until it’s all he can think about, mostly the part about making Zayn unhappy. That’s not—Harry doesn’t—well. He didn’t think Zayn would give a shit.

He tells his mother so much at dinner later that evening and all she sighs at him, shaking her head as she presses a kiss to the top of his head, reminding him that they’ve been friends for all their lives, of course Zayn cares that Harry is upset and that they’re not speaking. He’s human and he cares about Harry, loves him even.

The last part sends a spark of guilt through Harry’s chest.

So two weeks after their fight in the parking lot, Harry shows up to Zayn’s house with an apologetic smile and a batch of his favorite cookies. He gives half the cookies to Zayn’s mother, who looks so disappointed in him that he could cry as he races up the stairs towards Zayn’s room.

Zayn’s sitting at his desk, back towards the door and tapping away at his computer.

“Safaa, for the last time, please. I’m doing homework. Ask Dad to help you.”

“Not Safaa,” Harry says and he can see the muscles in Zayn’s shoulders tighten as he turns slowly in his chair. “I brought cookies, my guilty conscious, and an apology that is Anne Cox approved.”

Zayn gives the faintest of nods and Harry takes that as a sign that he can stay. He closes the door behind him, much of the dismay to one of Zayn’s sisters, who groan on the other side of it.

“Um. Yeah, I’m an asshole,” Harry tries, watching as Zayn nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Is that the apology that your mom heard?”

“No, um. The one she heard I said that I was a jerk,” Harry jokes and Zayn smiles slightly. “I also said that like, I was really, really sorry and I kind of hate myself for being such a dick to you. And that I miss you and that I was sorry. I said I was sorry a lot.”

Zayn shrugs. “Missed you too, you know,” he says and Harry breathes out, like it’s the first time he’s managed to get any oxygen since this whole ordeal happened. “But I don’t understand. Why were you so mad?”

Harry thought about this. He thought about it for a long time, how he can explain his feelings without explaining his _feelings._ It took some time, but he thinks that he figured it out.

“Do you remember when we were ten and Safaa was born, and you thought that—you thought that your parents didn’t love you anymore? Because she was new and cute and she needed them in a different way from how you needed them. But you didn’t really understand, so you just kind of thought okay, they don’t love me anymore. Not that they hate you, but that they don’t love you, which is totally worse,” Harry explains, his hands moving as he talks. He’s nervous, for some reason. “I kind of felt like that, and it sort of - well, a lot of - fucked with my head and turned me into a monster.”

It takes all of a second for Zayn to laugh. It’s not mean or condescending, but more like he can’t believe that’s why Harry would be upset. And it’s partially true, Harry’s explanation. He wishes that he could give Zayn the whole thing, but that’s not fair. He’s already put Zayn through so much; he can’t add unrequited feelings on top of all that.

“You really think I traded you in for Liam?” Zayn asks after a moment and Harry shrugs, the cookies clattering around in the Tupperware. “God, you’re so—Harry. Are you being serious?”

“Well, I don’t know. I felt like I was taking a backseat for a while. I was just—you know how I am.”

“I do, and you do know that you’re my best friend, right?” Harry shrugs. “Harry.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Right. So you’re my best friend and we’ve known each other our whole lives. Even if Liam ends up lasting my whole life that’s not going to change anything between us,” Zayn says and it’s almost like Zayn is rubbing salt into the wound before he heals it over, because the very last thing Harry wants to hear about is Liam and Zayn becoming permanent, at least not right now, but the very first thing he wants to hear is that he’s still number one. “And Liam knows that. If I told him to back off a bit he would. And I would have, if I had known you felt neglected.”

Harry wishes he was a better person. If he were then he would be able to hide the smile on his face a little bit better. And he wouldn’t feel so damn giddy about knowing that everything is still the same as it was, the same as it’s always been.

“I didn’t want to be _that_ friend,” Harry says.

“Yeah, much better to be the friend that ignores me and listens to shitty music instead of spending time with me. Much better.”

“I didn’t want to make you choose.”

“I’d choose you,” Zayn says, the words spilling out of his mouth so effortlessly that Harry chokes on the shock of it. “Alright? As long as you’re not being an unreasonable dick, which you have been, you come first.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Zayn nods and turns back around towards his computer, hitting a few more keys before he closes it, spinning back around to face Harry. “Now, give me those cookies and find a movie. My mom made some lemonade so I’ll go and get that.”

“And popcorn.”

Zayn nods, waving a hand over his shoulder as he goes.

Harry feels like he’s eight years old all over again, the same relief and bliss that he felt then when Zayn reminded him that he was his only best friend. Harry makes a promise with himself then, in that very moment, that he’ll always do the same for Zayn. Zayn first, even if that means supporting him in things that hurt him and force him to hide his own feelings.

  
>><<

They’re seventeen when Zayn and Liam break up.

They’ve been together a year, a blissful year for them, but a miserable one for Harry. He never figured out how to get over his crush for Zayn, always sat back and watched as he lived his life happily, with Liam. It’s not that the opportunity never presented itself, it did, but it felt wrong. How was Harry going to start a relationship with someone else when his heart was never going to be fully in it?

It never felt right with anyone but Zayn, and Harry doesn’t even know what it feels like to be with Zayn. He just knows that it’s right, that’s the person that he should be with. And it kills him, pains him more than anything to know that Zayn is happier with someone else, but despite that pain, it hurts even more to know that Zayn’s lost the person he was happy with.

“You and Liam broke up?” Harry asks, trying not to sound hopeful, trying to sound supportive and upset and understanding, maybe. He’s honestly not sure what he’s supposed to be portraying, but he’s not smiling, so he chalks it up to a win.

“Yeah, it wasn’t working out,” Zayn admits, shrugging.

Harry nods sympathetically. “Was there any particular reason, or like… Was it just not meant to be?”

“Both? I guess,” Zayn shrugs. “We talked about it, talked about what we wanted, what we were together, and it’s been a long time coming, to be honest.”

“So like, he didn’t fuck up?”

“Nah, Liam’s a great guy,” Zayn says and Harry bites back a groan and suppresses an eyeroll. Zayn’s supposed to be talking about how horrible he is, how awful he is, but how wonderful Harry is, ideally.

“Well, I’m glad that he didn’t break your heart,” Harry says, trying to flex out his muscles. “I’d hate to rip him to shreds.”

Zayn laughs, this loud snorting sound escaping his mouth and Harry grins, happy to have made Zayn feel a little better, because even though he’s acting like it’s not a big deal, brushing it off like it’s nothing and it’s not bothering him, Harry knows that it is, even if Zayn won’t say.

“You could barely rip up paper with those arms,” Zayn teases, shoving at Harry’s shoulder playfully. “No, but really, I’m fine.”

“I don’t understand how, you were together for almost a year.”

Zayn shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Haz. It sucks, but what can you do?”

“You could start by telling all your troubles to me. Come on now, tell me,” Harry says, pitching his voice high so he sounds like his mother, diving across the room and wrapping Zayn in his arms.

“God, you’re so weird,” Zayn groans, shoving out of Harry’s embrace. “I’m fine, honestly. I’m just worried about when you’re going to find someone, it’s been over a year since you’ve been interested in anyone.”

“I already found someone,” Harry admits, shrugging. “Just waiting to see how it all plays out.”

“Well, I hope it works out for you, Harry,” Zayn says and Harry smiles at him, holding in the ‘me too’ that threatens to spill from his lips.

Zayn doesn’t show signs of being upset, at least not in front of Harry, which worries him, but at the same time, Harry’s the only person in the world that Zayn doesn’t have to be afraid to be upset around. He’s the only person in the world - maybe besides his mom and younger sister - that Zayn would spill his soul to. But it never happens; life seems to go on without Liam around.

News about Zayn’s break up with Liam spreads fast. Not so much the break up, but more so the fact that Zayn is single and amazingly enough, it seems like the entire school has been waiting a year for that.

It’s not only Zayn that gets approached, but Harry as well. They all want to know if he can put a good word in for them, or if they know if Zayn is seeing someone. He tells them all to fuck off and that he’s not interested in doing any match making for his friend who can make his own decisions. At least that’s what he says to them, internally he screams, and wonders why he has to have a best friend that’s so insanely attractive.

“It’s just not fair,” Niall says at lunch one day, staring at Zayn from across the cafeteria. “That's the second person that’s approached him since we sat down to eat.”

“Yesterday some kid in our math class stopped me before I could leave, he wanted me to talk to Zayn for him,” Harry says. “It’s like they think I’m his assistant and not his friend.”

“Well, everyone knows that he’ll listen to you,” Louis says.

“And they’re probably too intimidated to do it themselves,” Niall adds, shrugging when Harry looks at him. There’s nothing about Zayn that should be feared. But still, Harry doesn’t have much room to talk, not when he’s been harboring his own crush for a year.

When Zayn returns to the table he sighs, dropping down on the seat next to Harry and shaking his head. “She wanted to go out Friday night.”

“What’d you tell her?” Louis asks.

“I said I was busy.” Zayn shrugs. “I figured it was better than saying I wasn’t interested. Although, I think she kind of got that hint anyway.”

“Well, you should focus on keeping your options open,” Harry says, surprising himself with his words. “I just mean. You were in a relationship for a year, that’s a long time. It’d be silly to jump right into another one so soon with someone that you barely know. You don’t know her, right?”

“She’s in my painting class,” Zayn says. “But no, I don’t really know her.”

“Then, yeah, don’t worry about her. You need to stay focused and worry about doing your own thing right now, right?”

Zayn laughs, draping his arm along the back of Harry’s chair. “Harry, I’m not really worried about them. I’m not interested.”

“Good,” Harry mutters, nodding.

No one at the table calls him out on his obvious attempt to stop Zayn from dating. He wouldn’t expect it from Niall, but it’s shocking to know that Louis isn’t going to say anything. Louis always says something. Harry thinks he might know about his feelings for Zayn. He’s never said anything but sometimes Harry sees him watching them, focusing on them and their interactions.

Harry had been worried about it until the break up, and then he didn’t really care. Zayn was single and Harry’s best friend, so until Zayn caught onto him and told him to get over it, he’s fine. He’s not doing anything differently. Well, he might not have told Zayn to ignore a potential date, but…that’s self-preservation more than anything else. And Zayn said that he wasn’t interested, so it’s not like Harry is doing the wrong thing.

Harry thinks to mention it, how people are asking him about Zayn, but he decides against it.

They’re in Zayn’s room and Zayn is lying on his bed and telling him about how one of Harry’s ex-girlfriends asked him out. Harry’s laughing as Zayn tells his, hunched over and grasping at his stomach.

“It’s not funny. I didn’t know what to say,” Zayn says, swatting lamely at Harry’s shoulder.

“What did you tell her?” Harry asks, rolling onto his side so that he can look up at Zayn. He’s not sure when Zayn took over his bed and he got down on the floor, but it’s happened.

“I told her that I wouldn’t feel comfortable dating someone that used to have a thing with my best friend. So, she probably thinks that you still have feelings for her.”

“Great, thanks for that.”

“Well, better you than me,” Zayn reasons. “It’s so exhausting. I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, getting hit on must be so tiring.”

“Shut up. But I mean, like, physically. I’m physically exhausted.”

Harry nods and rolls onto his back, staring up at his ceiling. There are still a few glow in the dark stars stuck up there, the ones they put up there when they were eleven and Harry’s mom bought him a pack. There’s not as many as before, he can no longer make out the constellations of ‘H’ and ‘Z’. But they’re there, and it sets a warm feeling off inside of him. It comforts him, somehow. The tiny reminder of their history together, how it lingers, reminding him always that no matter how he might feel about Zayn that their friendship comes first. Always.

“I think I’m gonna head home,” Zayn sighs and Harry groans, reaching over to grab Zayn’s ankle.

“Stay the night.”

“What?”

“Sleep here. Stay with me.”

“Harry, I think we’re a little too big for your bed,” Zayn points out, motioning towards the twin mattress that he just got off of. “And I’m not sleeping on your floor.”

“No one said you had to,” Harry says, groaning as he stands up. “Just text your mom, get some of my pajamas and get into bed. It’s not a big deal.” Harry shrugs and grabs Zayn’s phone off the nightstand, tossing it at him as he heads towards the bathroom to brush his teeth.

They get ready for bed together, brushing their teeth and then stripping down to their boxers in the darkness of Harry’s room. Harry has no intentions of sleeping with anything else on, and after a rejected offer of something to wear, he quickly learns that Zayn has no intentions of wearing anything either. It’s fine. They haven’t actually worn pajamas in bed since they were little, but it’s been a while. They definitely haven’t shared a bed since Harry first caught feelings.

“I can’t believe you think we’re both going to fit comfortably on this,” Zayn groans, crawling into bed first. “Do you even wash your sheets? God, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what goes on in here.”

“Not much to know about,” Harry says, crawling in behind him. He flops around for a minute, trying to find a position where Zayn’s bony elbow isn’t digging into his ribcage. When he finally gets comfortable he sees that Zayn is staring at him, a peculiar expression on his face. “What? Did I knee you or something?”

“What do you mean by there isn’t much to know about what goes on in this bed?”

Harry shrugs. “I mean I sleep here. That’s it.” Obviously he’s not going to mention a morning wank. That’s—he does, but like, the sheets have been cleaned since the last time. And really, that’s why he prefers to get off in the shower, less clean up required. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Harry, are you a vir— Have you never had sex before?”

And that’s not at all what he expected to be asked. He stares at Zayn, his mouth hung open as sounds pour out of it. Not words, but sounds. These ugly whining noises as he tries to think of something to say besides _‘it’s hard to want to have sex with someone when I’m too busy wanting to have sex with you.’_ Which isn’t the actual reason that he hasn’t had sex. The opportunity has never presented itself and he’s not going to go out and force it. These things happen when they’re supposed to happen. And it just hasn’t happened for Harry yet.

“It’s not a big deal,” Zayn adds quickly, obviously catching on that Harry’s embarrassed and unsure of how to deal with the topic.

Harry nods and rolls onto his side, his back facing Zayn as he squeezes his eyes shut and breathing out slowly.

“Hey,” Zayn says softly and the sheets rustle as he rolls onto his side, slipping an arm around Harry’s waist. It’s meant to be a comforting touch but it embarrasses Harry even more, making him turn to hide his face in the pillows. “Harry, stop.” Zayn tugs him closer, forcing Harry’s face out of the pillow. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“It is to some people,” Harry mumbles with a sigh. He feels Zayn nod, the movement shifting around the hairs on the back of his neck as Zayn presses in closer.

“To some, yeah. If it’s special to you, I suppose. But if it’s special to you and it’s not to someone else then that’s just how it goes,” Zayn says, his breath fanning out against the back of Harry’s neck. “I’m just saying that it’s not a big deal. Not to me.”

“Maybe you just didn’t have anyone special,” Harry says, resting his hand on top of Zayn’s. He knows that it’s happened, Zayn having sex, but he doesn’t know whom it started with. Harry never cared enough to ask. And Zayn never offered the information, always too private about that sort of thing to want to talk about it.

After several minutes of silence, as Harry traces patterns onto Zayn’s hand does Zayn sigh, mumbling a quiet, “Yeah, maybe.”

It’s too late to wonder what it means. Harry’s not sure he can handle hearing about Zayn being intimate with something else. At least not right now, not when Zayn’s holding him close in his tiny little bed.

For now, Harry focuses on that. He focuses on Zayn and the way he feels pressed against him in the quiet of the night.

  
>><<

They’re eighteen when they fall in love.

The realization creeps up on Harry slowly. A slow burn that slowly wraps around him like the heat of an open fire. It’s there, the heat of the flame, but it takes a while to spread from the outside in. It takes time for the heat of the flame to get to you.

There’s a subtle shift in their relationship over time. It’s almost unnoticeable to Harry. Everything is the same; Harry doesn’t think that much has changed between them. It’s just—Harry knows it’s kind of silly to think, but he can feel it. There’s this—this charge between them. It’s in their touches, mostly. It feels different when Zayn walks with an arm around Harry’s waist, or when his fingers find their way into Harry’s hair. And it’s more than just the way it makes Harry feel, but it’s hard for Harry to figure out how to get it into words.

He tries talking to Niall about it, but that goes about as well as expected.

“You’re confused because he touches you?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Niall’s probably the worst at understanding things like this. Harry has spelled it out so clearly for him, every touch and every feeling, and yet, here they are, with Niall just as confused as Harry is about what is happening. But Harry has to talk to Niall about it, because it was Niall that Harry drunk confessioned his feelings to three months ago.

“I’m not confused because he’s touching me,” Harry says. “I’m confused because I don’t know what it means. It feels different. He’s always touched me but like, this is different.”

“Different in what way? Like inappropriate?”

“No, not like that,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It feels like there’s meaning behind it.”

“What kind of meaning?”

“It makes me feel like – and this is completely absurd, honestly – but like he might, you know, have feelings for me. Like he might like me. Do you think he likes me?”

“Obviously he likes you, you’re his best friend.”

Harry groans, putting his head in his hands. “That’s not what I mean!”

All Niall does is laugh at him, which is wholly unhelpful. Harry removes his head from his hands and glares at Niall, feeling betrayed. “You’re supposed to help me.”

“Alright. I’m going to help you by saying that you should really figure out the real reason behind Liam and Zayn’s break up,” Niall says, standing up and collecting his things. “I think it might help you more than I can.”

“Okay?” Harry watches Niall go and feels more confused. It’s been a year since their break up, so no one, not even Harry, thinks about it anymore. Liam’s moved on, for crying out loud. There’s no point in him bringing it up. Actually, Harry likes to pretend like it never happened. It’s best for his sanity.

Still. Sanity or not, Harry can’t help but wonder what Niall’s words mean. He doesn’t do anything with the information, not yet anyway. Instead he sits on it and let’s it fester.

It’s the worst thing that he could do because Harry, so like himself, obsesses over it. It’s on the tip of his tongue every time he says something to Zayn. It’s in the back of his mind with every silence. But it’s none of his business and Harry can’t think of a way to bring it up without seeming like he’s obsessing over it. Which…okay. Harry might be right now, but he hasn’t been for an entire year.

As hard as Harry holds onto the thought, it slowly transforms into something else. Something more. Thinking about why Liam and Zayn broke up turns into thinking about why Zayn hasn’t been with anyone since. As far as Harry is aware Zayn hasn’t been interested in anyone. Harry’s stomach dips in excitement because that’s good. Or it could be good, maybe. Harry’s not sure what it means, though, so he asks, as subtly as he can, one Friday night when they’re getting ready for a party.

“What?” Zayn says, ceasing his rummaging through Harry’s closet to look at him.

“It was just something I’ve been thinking about,” Harry mumbles, his head down as he pulls on his jeans.

“You’ve been thinking about why I haven’t dated anyone since I broke up with Liam?”

Harry nods.

“And why would you think about that?”

Harry shrugs and Zayn sighs.

“Harry, can you look at me? There we go,” he says, when Harry finally tilts his head up to look at him. He’s holding one of Harry’s shirts, still in just a pair of jeans. “Why are you worried about that?”

“I don’t know, don’t you ever miss having a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? Or just…someone?”

“Not particularly, no,” Zayn admits, shrugging when Harry raises an eyebrow. “If I were to miss having someone then that kind of implies I’m missing someone that I let go, or let go of me. So no, I don’t miss that.”

“But that still doesn’t answer my question?”

“And what question is that?” Zayn asks, tugging on one of Harry’s shirts.

“Why haven’t you been with anyone since you broke up with Liam?”

“Why haven’t you been with anyone since sophomore year?”

And Harry was definitely not expecting that. Zayn hasn’t asked about Harry’s relationship status in a long time. He does the occasional thing where he tries to see if Harry thinks a certain boy is cute but Harry never plays into that game. They boys are cute but they’re not-- well, it’s obvious who they’re not.

“Do you think Louis is going to pass out in Niall’s kitchen again?” Harry asks to change the subject, turning away from Zayn to shrug on his own shirt. Zayn merely laughs in response, muttering a quiet he doesn’t know, they’ll have to see.

The party is in full swing by the time they arrive. It’s hard to tell how long everyone has been at Niall’s house, because Niall keeps everyone busy and preoccupied. There’s a cup in everyone’s hands and music is playing loudly, forcing everyone to shout at each other. It’s not Harry’s favorite scene, it never has been, nor is it Zayn’s really, but they’re supportive friends and it’s high school, so they’re not going to just avoid stuff like this.

So despite it not being their scene, Zayn goes off in search for a spot to sit while Harry goes looking for drinks. There’s a massive pile of them in Niall’s kitchen, his fridge and sink and random buckets that probably belong to Niall’s mom filled with bottles. Harry grabs as many as he can carry and then moves to find Zayn.

“You found a spot for yourself,” Harry says when he finds Zayn, noticing that he’s sat on a couch in Niall’s basement where there is absolutely no room for himself.

“They sat down,” Zayn says, waving his hands towards the couple next to him. “You can sit.”

“Where?” Harry asks, handing Zayn a drink. He’s not sitting on the floor. “I’m not sitting on the floor. It’s hard and cold.”

“I can scoot over if you want,” Louis says and Harry turns, startled. He wasn’t aware there was anyone here in this particular spot of interest besides Zayn. “It’ll be cramped, but whatever.”

“I’m not going to sit on that—What is that?”

“My mom made that,” Niall supplies, dropping down next to Louis and effectively taking the spot that was possibly going to be Harry’s. “It’s like, a pillow seat thing. She saw them on Pinterest. She thinks they’re fucking wicked.”

“Right. And now that Niall took my spot?”

“Oh shut up,” Zayn groans, grabbing Harry from around the middle and tugging him down in his lap. “There. Now you’ve got a spot.”

Harry can feel his cheeks flush pink as he adjusts himself on Zayn’s lap, Zayn’s grip adjusting to the movements. He’s half sitting on the arm of the couch and half sitting on Zayn. But mostly sitting on Zayn. He’s sitting on Zayn. Harry needs a drink.

“You done whining now?” Zayn asks, face pressed against Harry’s arm.

Harry breathes out and wraps his lips around the bottle, drinking in the liquid and hoping that the alcohol will erase all thoughts of the fact that he’s in Zayn’s lap. It’s obviously not the first time, but it’s been ages and Zayn’s never willingly thrown Harry into his lap. It’s always Harry being his usual self and crawling into Zayn’s lap when he’s tired or when he just wants to be annoying.

But now? Now Zayn’s the one pulling Harry into his lap, one arm wrapped around his waist as they drink and laugh and have a good time with their friends.

An hour and a half into the party and Harry’s mind is beginning to grow fuzzy. He’s somewhere between pleasantly drunk and off his ass drunk, where he and Zayn have to help each other stumble around Niall’s house in search of more drinks.

Zayn’s arm is around his waist and Harry’s face is shoved into the other boy’s neck, breathing him in.

“You smell nice,” Harry tells him, nodding in approval.

“Took your cologne,” Zayn admits. “The blue bottle.”

“Blue liquid.”

“Same thing.”

“Mm, yeah. Same thing,” Harry mumbles in agreement. His legs don’t feel like they’re working much anymore, so he leans against Zayn more, pressing flush against him and forcing Zayn to back into a wall. “Smells nice.”

Zayn hums and strokes his fingers through Harry’s hair. It feels nice, really nice. Zayn’s fingers are lovely and Harry’s glad that they’re focusing on him. He feels insatiable for the touch, which is probably the alcohol but it doesn’t matter. Zayn’s focused entirely on him in a house full of people and that’s everything. It’s nice. It’s wonderful and he smells so good. It’s clouding Harry’s mind.

And Harry’s head doesn’t need to be clouded anymore than it already is because his better judgment is out the window when he breathes Zayn in just once more and then presses his lips to Zayn’s neck. Zayn’s fingers still in his hair and Harry whines because that’s not what he wanted.

“Why did you stop doing that?” Harry whines, pulling away to look at Zayn.

“Did you kiss me?”

“I did,” Harry says, nodding. “You smell nice.”

Zayn smiles dopily at him, finger on Harry’s cheek. Harry blinks and then they’re kissing, Zayn’s mouth pressed hotly against his and it’s…wow. It’s better than Harry imagined it would be. Zayn tastes like the cherry vodka that he was drinking and like the gum he was chewing before they came and like—like everything good in the world.

They kiss in Niall’s hallway, fingers roaming over each other’s skin, completely unconcerned with the world around them as they stumble back towards a room down the hall. Harry doesn’t know which one they enter; just that Zayn flips them around right before they fall onto a bed.

The only thing Harry knows is that they’re drunk and kissing and he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to.

Waking up in Niall’s brothers room with a hangover alone is not how Harry imagined his morning going. He’s fully clothed, his head hurts, and his lips are chapped from kissing Zayn all night, but none of that really matters because he’s alone. Zayn left and he’s—yeah. Harry doesn’t need to remind himself that he’s on his own.

Zayn seems to disappear for a while after that, not like Harry doesn’t follow suit. He spends lunch in the computer lab working on different assignments and promising the tech that he won’t get food on the keyboard. Louis drives Zayn to school and Harry pretends that he’s not annoyed by that fact. And he spends his nights at home doing his assignments like he’s supposed to. Like the good student that he’s usually not, at least when he has a best friend around to keep him distracted.

But it happens. Life happens. And ignoring his best friend isn’t the worst thing that he’s ever done. At least this time he doesn’t sit around his house listening to his mom’s old CDs and eating everything sweet that he can find. He’s not a walking cliché this time around, because this time he has an actual reason to avoid Zayn. He left him alone in Niall’s brother’s bedroom after they spent an entire night together making out. It’s not like they had sex or anything, so there’s really nothing for Zayn to be ashamed of besides—well, it’s obviously Harry that he’s ashamed of.

And that’s fine. Harry really doesn’t care.

Except he does. A lot.

It keeps him awake at night. He stares at the stars on his ceiling, fingers clasped over his chest, and he thinks about why Zayn kissed him if he was going to regret it this much. He thinks about what it means that Zayn kissed him and is now avoiding him. Harry doesn't understand it himself. And he tries to push all of the blame onto Zayn, but he can’t. Not really. Harry was a willing participant in everything that happened that night.

Harry is just as much of the problem as Zayn is.

So, two weeks after that night at the party and Harry is ready to put it all behind him, ready to pretend that he hasn’t been driving himself insane the last couple weeks wondering what happened. So he goes back to lunch, slamming his tray down on the table and smiling sweetly at Zayn as he takes his usual seat. 

“Glad to see you’re back,” Niall says as a greeting, offering Harry a half wave half salute gesture before he goes back to eating.

“Didn’t really think we’d see you around here again,” Louis adds.

Harry shrugs. “Well, I’m back,” he says, smiling at each of them. Zayn looks at him for the briefest of seconds before he shrugs and goes back to his macaroni. He never eats the cafeteria macaroni; he only gets it for Harry. Harry’s eyes narrow as he watches a forkful go into Zayn’s mouth.

“Is that how lunch is going to be spent from now on?” Louis asks, forcing Harry to tear his eyes away from his macaroni in Zayn’s mouth.

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean are you two going to be glaring at each other all the time now? Because I have to say it’s already annoying me.”

“No one was glaring.”

“Right. I’m sure I was imagining that,” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

“So, you two really are fighting?” questions Niall, looking back and forth between Zayn and Harry, trying to get an answer from someone.

Harry shrugs, stabbing his fork into his watermelon chunks.

“I guess that answers that, doesn’t it?” Louis mumbles.

“Oh fuck off, Lou,” Zayn says finally, sitting up in his seat. “Mind your own business for once, alright?”

“Kind of my business when you’re both sitting on front of me, glaring at each other. Kind of my business when it feels like we’re supposed to be picking sides.”

“No one has asked you to pick anything.”

“Really? Because it feels like it when Harry doesn’t show up to lunch, when you ask me to give you a ride to school and home. Kind of feels like we’re being forced to choose your side on this,” Louis says and Harry bites his lip, feeling guilty. He hadn’t really thought how this would affect their other friends.

But while Harry feels guilty, Zayn’s anger seems to grow. He throws his fork down on his tray, standing up so quickly that his chair flies backwards and hits the chair behind him, forcing the girl occupying it to turn around and glare.

“No one made you do anything. Didn’t want to drive me, fine. I could have taken the fucking bus,” Zayn growls, grabbing his books and storming out of the cafeteria.

Niall sighs from across the table, shaking his head. “What even happened between you two?”

“Nothing,” Harry says, grabbing his stuff and standing. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I wasn’t trying to—“

“I know, Lou. Don’t worry about it.”

Harry doesn’t approach Zayn after lunch. He leaves him alone, lets him figure out what the hell is going on in his head and why he snapped at his best friend. Friends. Whatever.

Instead Harry waits until after school, when he sees Zayn walking towards the buses. He grabs him by his elbow, guiding him towards his car in the student parking lot. He doesn’t let go until they’re at his car. He’s not going to risk it because he doesn’t know what Zayn’s going to do, if he’s going to try and run back to the buses or go off in search of another ride him.

Zayn seems to falter at the idea of getting into a car with Harry. It forces an eye roll out of Harry because he’s had his tongue in Harry’s mouth, the least risqué thing he can do at this point is getting a ride home with their hands to themselves.

“By the time you get back to the bus, it’ll have left. And I’m willing to bet you haven’t talked to Louis yet, so get over yourself and get in the car,” Harry says.

Zayn does. Of course he does. “Didn’t think you’d want me in the car with you,” Zayn mutters, putting his seatbelt on.

Harry doesn’t start the car. This feels like the start of the conversation that he was hoping to have at his house. Maybe Zayn’s. But definitely not in his car in the school parking lot, but whatever. He can do this too.

“Why wouldn't I want you in my car?” Harry asks.

“It’s like Louis said, isn’t it?”

“So you have been avoiding me.” Zayn shrugs. “Right. We gonna talk about why? Or are you going to keep avoiding me until you throw away a fifteen year friendship over whatever bullshit is bothering you.”

“I’m not throwing away anything.”

“So you want to talk.” Zayn shrugs again and Harry rolls his eyes. “Alright, I can see that you’re going to be absolutely no help so it looks like I’m going to have to do this on my own. Why’d you leave that morning?”

“What morning?” Zayn asks, staring ahead.

“Oh fuck you. You know exactly what morning I’m talking about, Zayn.”

Zayn shakes his head, his eyes squinting into a glare. Harry doesn’t pry, just waits. He knows that Zayn’s going to answer him. He’s cornered and Harry’s here, right next to him, and there’s no escape from this. He has to talk. Zayn had to have known that this moment was going to come.

“When you woke up what did you feel?”

“Like shit,” Harry answers instantly. “For an array of different reasons.”

“How many of those reasons were because of me?”

Harry looks at Zayn and he—He thinks he might get it. Maybe. He might understand why Zayn has been avoiding him for so long. And it has nothing to do with his own regret, aside from the regret that he thinks Harry feels. The regret that he anticipated Harry feeling, the regret that never came.

“Why’d you kiss me?” Harry asks because it’s the only thing he can think to say.

“I wanted to,” Zayn admits, breathing out as he says it, his shoulders relaxing as the words leave his mouth. “You were—I had been thinking about it.”

“Why’d you leave in the morning, Zayn?”

“Didn’t want to see your face when you woke up and remembered what happened.”

“Why?”

“Because I kissed you. Because I took advantage of you while we were drunk. Because I—I’d fucking hate myself if you woke up and you didn’t—If you remembered and you hated it.”

“You didn’t take advantage of me,” Harry snorts, shaking his head as he forces Zayn to look at him, hands on Zayn’s cheeks. “Were you sober?” Zayn shakes his head. “Alright, see? Both drunk. Both wanted it. Both agreed to it. And technically I kissed you first.”

“On the neck.”

“Still counts.”

“Still counts,” Zayn mumbles, wetting lips. “Still doesn’t change how I feel. Harry, I didn’t know what to expect. I kissed you and we never—we hadn’t. You’re my best friend. I can’t ruin that.”

Harry rolls his eyes, thumbs stroking Zayn’s cheeks. “If our friendship can’t survive a drunk make out then it’s not as strong as we think, is it?”

“Guess not.”

It’s silent for several minutes, as Harry tries to think about what Zayn’s just said and what it might mean. He thinks he knows, maybe. It’s in Zayn’s eyes, in the soft touch of his fingers around Harry’s elbow. And it’s been there, for a long time. Harry can’t pinpoint the exact moment that he remembers this look but he’s seen it before, almost everyday.

“Why did you break up with Liam?”

“I wanted to be with someone else more.”

“Who?”

“You.”

And that’s everything Harry needs to hear before he pulls Zayn closer and presses their lips together. Zayn gasps at the contact and then melts into it, slipping his fingers into Harry’s hair and curling the other around his waist. Harry puts everything he has into that kiss, every ounce of feeling that he can into it.

It’s only the beginning, Harry knows that, but he’s been in love with Zayn for as long as he can remember and this is everything he’s ever wanted. It’s not how he imagined it would go, but that’s alright with him, as long as he has Zayn.

>><<

They’re eighteen and a half when Harry has sex for the first time.

It comes after several months of being together and several months of Harry trying his actual hardest to make it happen. But Zayn, as it turns out, is immune to Harry’s advances. Not all of them. Just because they’re not having one kind of sex doesn’t mean they’re not having the rest.

Zayn, Harry finds, is adamant about not jumping into anything too quickly, about making sure that Harry doesn’t regret a single moment.

But sex, like most things in Harry’s life, happens when it’s supposed to.

It’s a Sunday afternoon. It’s raining and they’re alone at Harry’s house. His mom is out of town visiting Gemma at school and it’s just the two of them, alone for the weekend in his house like they’ve been a million times before.

Harry’s terrified, more of this than he was to sing for the school when he was twelve, or when Zayn fell out of the tree at seven, or when he asked out a girl for the first time. But it’s Zayn. It’s _his_ Zayn standing in front of him, gently coaxing Harry out of his shirt with smooth hands. Harry can do this, he can.

“Harry, you’re sure, yeah?” Zayn says, lips still moving against Harry’s as his fingers rest at the base of Harry’s pants, ready to pull them off. “We don’t have to—“

“Shut up,” Harry tells him, nipping at Zayn’s lip. He pulls away and pointedly steps out of his jeans, leaving him in his boxers. He waits, motioning for Zayn to follow and then, very carefully, he steps forward.

Zayn’s watching him, fingers moving to brush through Harry’s hair as he releases a deep breath. He gently hooks his fingers into Zayn’s boxers, watching the other boy’s face as he tugs them down, breathing out heavily when he has to tear his gaze downwards, helping Zayn out of them.

There’s a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach, nerves and glee all wrapped into one. He doesn’t look up as he removes his own boxers. He’s not ashamed, not in the slightest. They’ve seen each other naked countless times but he’s under no illusions that this is different. He’s aware, wholeheartedly that this moment marks a change in their relationship forever.

And it’s a fucking lot to take in.

But Harry wants this, wants Zayn more than anything else in the entire world and he has no intentions of backing out now. So with a newfound courage, Harry leans forward, capturing Zayn’s lips in a kiss and tugging him closer, stepping back towards the bed. They fall with an oomph, Zayn landing on top of him and it’s perfect.

They kiss for a while, Zayn’s hand wrapped around his dick and that’s—the familiarity of this sets Harry at ease. He’s done this before. He can do this without worrying that he’s doing it wrong or not good enough or worse, that Zayn might not be enjoying it.

“Still good?” Zayn asks, kissing along Harry’s jaw line. Harry nods his head and Zayn says, “Have to use words for this one, Harry.”

“Perfect.”

Luckily for Harry, because he was definitely not thinking about prep work or being safe, Zayn came prepared. They didn’t plan this and Harry has to fight down a remark about Zayn stashing condoms and lube and whatever else in Harry’s bedroom.

“Harry, you have to tell me if it’s too much, alright?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Harry.”

“I know, alright. Just. Stop worrying, okay?” Harry says, smoothing down the ends of Zayn’s hair. “You’re acting like I’m going to break or something and it’s really killing the mood.”

Zayn laughs, nodding. “Alright, yeah.”

Harry kisses him softly and then lies back, trying to get comfortable as he tugs Zayn down; Zayn’s slicked fingers pressed against his inner thigh, spreading his legs open slowly.

“You gotta relax, babe,” Zayn breathes out, kissing the side of Harry’s head. “Just like we usually do, yeah?”

Harry nods and breathes out, feeling the slight stretch of Zayn’s finger in his body. This is—this is fine. Harry knows this, he’s familiar with it and it’s nice. Zayn goes slow, taking his time to add new fingers, ignoring Harry when he tells him that he’s fine, that he’s ready. But Zayn’s in no hurry, fingers curling inside of Harry and loosening him up.

“You’re gonna have to do something,” Harry breathes out against Zayn’s lips. “I’m good.”

“I’m not going to hurt you Harry, stop rushing it.”

“I know you’re not, so shut up and listen to me,” he says and Zayn laughs, teeth grazing Harry’s jaw.

“You’re such a shit,” Zayn says, his fingers curling and pressing into him just right before he slides them out. He winks when Harry glares and fumbles around for the condom that’s managed to slide underneath Harry. “Don’t rush this, Harry.”

“We've been prepping for months. I’m fine,” Harry assures him. He’s still scared, nervous to know what it feels like to be stretched open, but he doesn’t need to be treated like a fragile doll. “Would you feel better if I blew you?”

Zayn laughs once more, rolling the condom on and shaking his head. “Later. I don’t think—I’m like. Harry, I could come just by thinking about having sex with you. I can’t—I won’t last.”

This time Harry laughs, feeling the nerves in the pit of his stomach dissipate at Zayn’s revelation. He’s glad that it’s not just him, glad that Zayn wants this as much as he does.

Zayn climbs over him and the laugh dies in Harry’s throat.

“Still good?”

Harry nods, breathing out and tugging Zayn down to kiss him. Zayn’s thumb strokes his ribcage and as they kiss Harry begins to relax again, shoving his thoughts to the back of his mind.

Zayn pushes in slowly and it’s—not pleasant but it’s not awful. It’s a stretch and a cramp at once, not used to being quite this filled or stretched. But he manages, breathing out through his nose and focusing on the kiss and the soft reassurances that Zayn is trying to breathe into him.

_Give it a minute, so good, Harry. It’s alright, babe. Feel so good. Tell me when you’re ready, babe. So good._

Harry listens to Zayn’s voice, using it as an anchor and then nodding, rocking his hips to let Zayn know that he’s fine. He’s ready. He—“Yeah. Move,” Harry says it with a movement of his hips that shifts Zayn in a little deeper, in just the right spot that masks the stretch with pleasure.

Zayn moves with him, pressed close against Harry, and as Zayn develops a rhythm Harry feels like his chest is going to burst with so much feeling. He’s wanted this for ages and here it is, the moment that he’s been waiting for and it’s everything and then some.

He doesn’t think Zayn’s an expert but he’s hitting him in all the right places and it’s so much. Harry’s letting off chocked moans fingers gripping at the sheets and then at Zayn’s hips, trying to keep him right there, in just the right place.

Harry would be embarrassed with how quickly he comes but he can’t even form a coherent thought at this point, his stomach twisting and toes curling as he cries out, fingers digging into Zayn’s back. He should be embarrassed probably, but the second his vision whites around the edges Zayn is jerking inside of him.

Zayn collapses on top of him, panting heavily into Harry’s neck and Harry wants to get cleaned up but he also wants to sleep and then he wants to do more, wants to spend the night getting it right.

“You still good?” Zayn asks, pulling out of Harry slowly. “That was—“

“Perfect.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Zayn agrees, throwing the condom somewhere and then collapsing next to Harry.

It’s everything that Harry imagined it would be, the two of them, his best friend since he was forever in his bed under the stars they hung themselves.

  
>>>><<<<

“I don’t know. Something about tonight—about today, really that has me to where I can’t stop myself from wondering what happens next. What now?” Zayn says, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Well,” Harry says, tugging on Zayn’s hair gently until he turns to look at him properly. “Next we go home. Then we eat the rest of the cake that my mom made us.”

“All of it?”

“All of it,” Harry assures him. “And then we go to sleep. In the morning, I’ll get up and go to work at the bakery. I’ll try my hardest to be quiet so that you can get a few more hours in before you have to go to the bookstore. Then I’ll come home and cook you dinner like I always do.”

“You haven’t made anything for over a week.”

Harry tugs on Zayn’s hair at that. “We had exams,” Harry reminds him, raising an eyebrow because he didn’t see Zayn offering to cook when they had their noses shoved in their textbooks and notes. “Now where was I? Oh yeah. We’ll eat dinner and maybe, if I’m feeling generous, you can fuck me on the couch.”

“That’s a lovely two-day plan,” Zayn tells him, nodding thoughtfully. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I know what you’re talking about, Zayn. I get it.”

“So what happens if this is it? What happens if you get an amazing job offer on the other side of the country?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“What if I don’t want to go?”

“We’ll figure it out. If and when that happens, we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay, but what if you get an amazing job offer here. But I don’t. You’re some high-powered businessman putting his marketing degree to use and I’m still working at the bookstore. What then?”

“What if you stop doubting us and I became a high-powered businessman while you became the sexiest fourth grade teacher in the world. And then, years from now, we get married on the beach at night under the stars. Then we adopt and we both have these amazing careers and a beautiful family and it’s us. It’s us, Zayn,” Harry says. “What if?”

Zayn looks at Harry, biting down on his bottom lip. “It’s not very realistic,” he mumbles, and Harry wants to shake him. He’s going to shake him and then kiss him and then scream in the middle of the park at night that Zayn’s out of his mind. “After everything that we just spent to go to school… It’s not realistic. We’re going to be in debt for years. I don’t know how you expect us to be able to afford a wedding and a child.”

Harry laughs, tugging Zayn’s hair again until Zayn shoves him off. “Fine. Then we’ll steal a child.”

“And I don’t want to get married on the beach.”

“Then we’ll steal a child and never get married. We can save up all our money for when we’re on the run with the baby.”

“You’ll have to grow a mustache.”

“I’d look awful with a mustache.”

Zayn shrugs. “It’s the price you’re gonna have to pay if you want to live a life of crime.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry mutters, sighing happily now that he can see Zayn’s in a more relaxed state. “You better? Or do I still need to convince you that everything will be alright?”

“No, I’m good, Harry,” Zayn says, leaning forward to kiss Harry softly. “Definitely ready to get home and get started on your two-day plan.”

Harry nods and stands up, stretching his arms above his head as Zayn follows suit. He should probably tell Zayn to text the other boys that they’ve home for the night but he brushes that thought aside just as quickly as it came. They can worry if they want, for now Harry’s going to focus on Zayn.

They walk through the park together in silence and Harry thinks about it all. He thinks about the playground when they were three, the forts they built in Harry’s living room when Zayn used to be scared of thunderstorms, the way Harry felt when he first realized the extent of his feelings for Zayn. He thinks about it all and Harry knows, somewhere that Zayn is thinking about it too. He has to be. Harry knows that’s why he came to the playground.

“Zayn,” Harry says, grabbing Zayn’s hand and slotting their fingers together. “You know that I love you, right?”

Zayn smiles and squeezes his hand. “Yeah, me too, Harry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [tumblr](http://www.alnimawrites.tumblr.com) if you want to yell at me about this or anything :).


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